


Found a God I Can Pray To

by unsettled



Category: Sherlock Holmes (Downey films)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-22
Updated: 2013-07-22
Packaged: 2017-12-21 00:58:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/893930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unsettled/pseuds/unsettled
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Music meme for Blackwood/Coward</p>
            </blockquote>





	Found a God I Can Pray To

**Author's Note:**

> These aren't terribly good by my standards, but I needed a little something to do to remind my hands, this is how you type. *shakes head*

1\. Pick a character, pairing, or whatever you like.  
2\. Turn on your music player and put it on random/shuffle.  
3\. Write a drabble related to each song that plays. You only have the time frame of the song to finish the drabble; you start when the song starts, and stop when it's over. No lingering afterward!   
4\. Do ten of these, then post them.

The only cheats I did was some cleaning up for grammar and spelling, and skipping over some songs that were really not suitable. I have lots of soundtracks and strange sound experiment stuff. 

 

1 – The Hand That Rocks the Cradle – The Smiths

There'll be blood on bed tonight.

Henry has that look to him – you wouldn't see it if you didn't know him so well. Tense, taut, just an edge of something wrong underlying his movements. He catches Coward's eyes across the room and Coward can see it, oh, he can see it. He shivers. 

Henry has needs, you see. And its Coward he comes to to satisfy them. 

When he's bent over Henry, tracing the bleeding cuts with his fingers, stroking his back, listening to him make small pained noises, he holds the satisfaction that it _is_ he that Henry comes to for this tight in his smile. 

*

2 – Soul Education – Jamiroquai

There wasn't anyone to teach him these things.

Oh, he could go to one of those fools who looked no further than their own debauched little circles, but what could they really show him? And he would be only viewed as one of their students, disciples, rather than as a power in his own right. The things he needed to know, needed to make his plans and dreams and desires work – those, he didn't have a teacher for. He had books. He had his imagination. He had his men, his powerful pawns. He had money. He had his charisma. 

And it was enough. It was enough to make them fear, it was enough to make them bows, it was enough to make him a god in their eyes. It was enough.

*

3 – Miles From Monterrey – West Indian Girl

He can hear the lies. He can hear them, the truth whispering underneath everything Coward said. Did Coward think he was stupid? That he wouldn't find out? And yet, he continued, lie after lie, day after day, a smile as false as his promises, as his pleas. There should be a punishment for his defiance, for his disrespect, but – but he needed Coward, still. Still. There was no one who could quickly replace him, and he hadn't the time – and so. And so, he pressed his mouth to Coward's in a kiss as false as Coward's, and told him he would bask in power beside him, when this was done. 

Coward *was* stupid, for he heard only the lies.

*

4 – Home, Depeche Mode

Somewhere along the line, he forgot this was a trap. A live trap, one in which he could scuttle around frantically, clawing at the bars, yet unable to escape. A trap that will end with him dead, he knows it. They pretend it's not so, but he can see all the paths from here, and they all wind the same way. Sometimes, at night, he will press the heels of his hands to his eyes until the bursts of purple behind his lids disappear and there is nothing but formless blackness, and can feel the walls of his cage around him, tightening. 

Then Blackwood rolls over, makes a sound in his sleep, and Coward finds, once again, that he does not care.

*

5 – TikTok – Ke$ha (modern au, for the_me09, obviously. :p)

Coward loves to dance. Loves it. When there's a crowd around him, and the music is so loud he can feel it under his skin, it's like a drug, dancing. 

Henry hates it. Hate it. Hates feeling awkward, knowing he can never have the same look, sense, of of abandonment to the music and the wildness of a communal mind with only one focus – fun. Well. Two, really, if you didn't include sex under the category of fun. 

Hates the way people press against Nicholas, the way they watch him, hit on him, touch him. Hates that they shares something with him that he can't. So when Nicholas comes winding through the crowd once more to beg him to come dance with him, he gives in. 

*

6 – Triple Spiral – Bright Eyes

He can smell the smoke. 

He wishes he could close off his sense of smell as he can close his eyes – but even that doesn't last. Blackwood takes him by the hand and leads him to window. "Look he says. Look, with a sense of pride, almost. He looks. London is burning, burning, with fire that cannot be put out. It's beautiful. He feels sick, pulls his hand from Blackwood's.

"It had to be done, Coward," he says. "It had to. There's no saving what London, England, had become. Better to start anew, better to rise from the ashes – is not that the more glorious way? Is that not better?"

Coward has no answer.

"Don't worry, Coward," he says. "It will be better."

*

7 – A Certain Kind of Touch – Breathe Electric

Lord Coward. That's the name of the rather lovely young man over in the corner, in the circle of mindless prattlers. The one who looks bored, toying with his glass, a certain glazed look to his eyes. Coward. 

When he steps to his side, Coward snaps back into awareness, back into actual engagement. "Lord Blackwood," he says. Nods. Hesitates a moment and then "I’ve heard of you. Heard of you," he says, with a little sidelong look. Blackwood smiles. 

"Anything good?" he asks. 

"Most decidedly not," Coward answers. 

"All the better."

Coward smiles back, and for a moment they are in accord. "This is not enough, is it," Blackwood says, a gesture encompassing the room, the people, the party. "How could it be enough?" Coward shakes his head, but says nothing.

"I could give you more, you know."

"Oh. I know." A smile, a smirk, a arrogant tilt to his head. "I know."

*

8 – English Electric Lightning – The Wild Swans

It's thundering outside – pouring, a black sheet of rain that sounds like it's trying to wash everything away, broken by the flash of lighting. Thundering, the sound shaking the very stones of the room, vibrating through his bones. He can hear nothing over the storm, not a breath, not a word, not a cry.

Yet he can feel Henry's mouth open against his skin, the rush of breath, the tiny shiver of his throat working, can feel Henry tightening around him, and he shudders himself, sinks his teeth into the tense flesh of Henry’s neck and while he cannot hear it, he can feel him cry out, can feel that it is almost more a scream of pain, even as he comes, wet and warm against Cowards' stomach.

*

9 – Turn you Inside Out - REM

It is moment like this that confuse him, that do not slot neatly into what he expects – Coward, curled up against him, a soft, warm weight, and looking at him with a false earnesty. "Of course I didn't eat it!" Coward says, and his shock is undermined by the smile growing on his face. "Why would you even think that _i_ would eat the very last piece of cake? I'd never! I’m not greedy, not like some..." 

Blackwood growls and pushes him off, pushing him right over and loams over him. "You wouldn't, hmm?" 

Coward shakes his head. "Nev-," and Blackwood stops his denial with a kiss.

"So that's not gingerbread I taste, then?"

Coward doesn't even have the grace to look embarrassed, and Blackwood doesn't know how Coward does this, turns him inside out into this person who finds time – makes time – for things like this. 

"Of course not," he says, smiling himself. 

*

10 – Sing it Back – Moloko 

He speaks, and Coward - oh, Coward is so pliant, so obedient, so willing. Henry pushes at him, pulls, whispers a suggestion, and Coward yields, offers himself up with an eagerness – a gladness that Henry cannot begin to understand. Does not want to understand. What need is there to understand that which is only right, is only as it should be? His name sits with reverence on Coward's lips, his touch brings a sigh, a smile, a shiver of longing, his voice turns Coward's head to him with utter focus as nothing else does, and that too is as it should be. Coward gives him something worth as much as the more mundane control over the police, something he has yet to see from another. He does not think he wants to see it from another


End file.
